First Light of a New Age

Somewhere around the city of Aquarius, an army of 100 soldiers of the Liberation Army marched forward, grim, determined, and mostly silent, even as the blue magic energy bullets of the enemy’s artillery fell among them.

The Major had more than enough men to storm the park where the dwarves had set up their artillery firing positions, which was good, damn good, because his tanks were the first things to vanish.

Every devastator his men had planned to use for cover, every tank that was to be their fire support and the very tip of the spear, even other armored vehicles, were going up in flames so fast that men were choosing to hoof it over waiting for their turn to burn.

The fire of the dwarves was disgustingly accurate, with the only breaks in their attacks coming from those vanishing moments when the civilian buildings obstructed their firing arcs. The Major had hundreds of men, and he had been supported by a quarter as many tanks, but at some point in their long march towards the foe, they had become a target priority, one which only swelled, drawing more and more of the enemy’s guns in the process.

He had wanted to call for air support, either to hasten their approach or otherwise harass the firing positions, but apparently, the mech warriors of the Iron Kingdom doubled as the elves’ flying warriors, and they were not alone as multiple Orcs with rocket packs were also fighting in the skies. Reports even stated that some had surprisingly taken down some of the deployed fighters by veering into the sky.

Suffice it to say, the Navy had their own hands full. Even a tactical navy bombardment was out of the question for the time being, with the ships from the dwarves and the Orcs engaged with their own form of trouble.

He had wanted to wait for the shock drops and tactical squads from the Archangel Unit to arrive, to wreak havoc on the foe's lines even as they advanced, but the word had come in, and the Archangel Unit had their own problems and objectives.

They could not guarantee a drop on his battlefield. He had requested artillery support, but their artillery turrets and other defensive emplacements had been badly mauled, their vehicle depots raided, and their remaining artillery capacity was being used to hold the enemy’s assault on the center plaza.

In dire fear and fury, he had demanded some kind of support, even from the 19th Black Armored Division, something to help his men cover the distance without eating death all the way. But what he received, and was made to be grateful for, was far less than he needed, and nowhere near what he wanted.

Command had promised them a vague but potent number of reinforcements, but made no commitment on their arrival.

Fortunately, he did receive something more substantial.

A Men of Stone.

While he was glad to receive anything, what was unfortunate is that Men of Stone had many failings compared to most of them as they forgot to code this Men of Stone to be able to shield his men or provide any kind of value until the battle was properly met.

Large as it was, at least it was capable of dodging and moving around the incoming volleys and had survived up until now. But now, he had no tanks, almost no armored support at all beside this useless walking statue. His column was messy, disorganized, running in places, marching in others, always under fire.

He himself was marching with them, having abandoned his tank eight minutes before its destruction. Most of the other officers had followed suit while the ones who had not were dead. He flinched as heat scalded his skin. Several meters away, another magic energy impacted the road, scattering men and body parts in a red cascade that fell like grim rain over the marching soldiers around him.